


You've Got It in The Palm of Your Hands

by mixterhodgins



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Jewelry, Lingerie, M/M, Money, Pampering, Pining, Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 11:46:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8161039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixterhodgins/pseuds/mixterhodgins
Summary: Harold looked up, blinking away the stimulating images from his mind. Mr. Asudeh was looking at him expectantly, a single eyebrow quirked. “Excuse me,” Harold began, his adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to swallow away his thoughts. “I’m afraid my mind wandered.” He turned his attention to the folded pinstripe pants that Mr. Asudeh had placed in his hands. They were of beautiful quality, the colours rich and fabric soft. “No, these won’t do.” He paused, tracing a finger down an emerald green stripe. “He’s tall enough already.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> sorry ive been gone so long from the writing scene! a lot of stuff happened, and im not even going to get into it. but ive had this plot bunny sitting around since like, early summer 2016, so it was time i finally do something with it! please, leave a comment and let me know what you think, feedback really helps me know what to write next time!  
> also, the title is from "gold" by marina and the diamonds

Harold Finch wasn’t ashamed to say that he enjoyed spending his money. The opposite, really: he saw no problem in admitting that every once in a while, when his schedule and pain levels permitted it, Harold took pleasure in spending his time browsing through a shop or two. There was something about flipping through swatches of fabric for a blazer, examining the hand-rolled hem of a silk shawl, or inspecting the grain of a one of a kind leather shoe that made him feel deeply at peace. In an unexpected (but not unwanted) burst of personal development, he found that his shopping fixation had become even more enjoyable since officially moving into John’s Manhattan loft. Finch rationalized this as being for two simple reasons. The first: that all the luxuries Fifth Avenue had to offer were now a mere 20 minutes away from the place he called home, and the second: his long term, deep-seated desire to spoil his partner- not something he exactly  _ repressed  _ before, with the suit fittings, the motorcycles, the size 12 Italian leather shoes- finally felt appropriate to express at any time. At  _ every  _ time, really.

This particular afternoon, after spending the morning with an open and shut number (armed robbery duo, both planning on killing the other for the money), Finch slipped away from his boyfriend with a tightlipped kiss to his forehead (Mr. Reese would be going out for a late lunch with Detective Carter, anyway) and took the six up the Lexington Avenue line. Exiting at Grand Central Station, Finch allowed the polite bubble of distance that Bear’s harness provided him in a crowd to carry him through the mass of people going about their days. Growing up in Iowa, surrounded by nothing but rolling hills of endless grain and the silent, unspoken cruelty of a small town’s judgement, Finch had frequently dreamed of the anonymity of New York City’s crowded streets. The day he moved into his first apartment out of MIT, a rathole in Hell’s Kitchen with thin walls and unreliable hot water, was the day Harold Finch felt truly free of the ghosts of his past weighing him down. 

If only he had known how many more would come haunt him.

Harold put the thought out of his mind as he turned onto Fifth Avenue. Mr. Reese had gotten an unfortunate rip in the elbow of the slate grey suit he reserved for the Rooney cover, and it wouldn’t do for Harold Crane’s asset manager to be seen in one of the less flashy blazers in John’s wardrobe. His eyes scanned the storefronts in front of him, an equal mix of tourists and Manhattan natives swarming the crowded streets. While Harold usually preferred to shop for his partner’s suits at the masculine, functional Hugo Boss, today he was in the mood to browse somewhere a little more- well, Mediterranean in origin. Framed by the large glass windows surrounding the front door of atelier Ermenegildo Zegna’s Fifth Avenue location, Harold took a second to check his phone. If there were any pressing matters for him to attend to, waiting until after he was done making his purchases could prove to be disastrous. If there was one thing Harold Finch hadn’t gotten the hang of yet, it was rushing important choices. And there was no choice more important than determining the package in which his already handsome employee would be presented to the world. 

Satisfied that all of human life would not end while he was inside the boutique’s walls, Harold signaled an employee of the store to open the door for him from the inside. With a stiff nod and a polite word of thanks, he followed Bear into the building. He scanned over the mannequins on prominent display, all clad in various shades of muted greens and blues.

“Mr. Crane?” a young man’s voice asked from his left, a gentle Manchester accent colouring his words. Finch turned to see an elegantly dressed man with deep brown skin and even darker, smiling eyes looking at him from near the fitting rooms. 

“Mr. Asudeh,” Harold replied, taking a few steps forward to give the man a firm handshake. “I wasn’t aware that you worked at this time.” He did his best to hide his surprise. He wasn’t uncomfortable that the assistant manager knew who he was- or who Crane was. In fact, the Crane identity wouldn’t work nearly as well without a certain degree of repute. He noticed Asudeh’s eyes flit from Bear and his harness and back to Harold’s face, and noted to himself to make sure to have an answer prepared for any future questions that may arise in that cover from the encounter. 

“I couldn’t stay away if I tried,” Asudeh replied as he let Harold’s hand fall, the statement not exactly reaching the feeling in his eyes. “Now, Mr. Crane, are you here on business, or pleasure?”

It was a very good question. He was here as Mr. Reese’s handler, in order to provide him with the proper equipment he would need for his job. He was here today as Mr. Reese’s boss, not his partner. The answer should be obvious. 

“Pleasure, thank you,” Finch answered, against his best judgement. 

So what if it was a pleasure? he wondered as Mr. Asudeh began to run him through the new additions to the stock. Harold had always taken an interest in men’s couture, and having a man with such different fashion needs than himself at his disposal- well, Harold saw no reason it  _ shouldn’t _ be pleasurable.

“At Harold’s disposal” was a good way to describe Mr. Reese’s myriad of qualities, Finch mused as Mr. Asudeh shared his opinions on the new fall/winter textiles. It was understatement to say that John was a very talented operative. More importantly, beyond his raw abilities, Mr. Reese’s desire please Harold, to do his best to obey his orders made him a very... satisfying employee to work with, for Finch. (A definite improvement over the needlessly rebellious Mr. Dillinger.) Though he wouldn’t always admit it to himself, it did titillate Finch to be… in charge of John, so fully. All the way down to the clothes he wore on a day to day basis. 

It excited him even further to know how much Mr. Reese seemed to enjoy the control. Harold found his thoughts wandering to the blush that would inevitably rise on John’s cheeks as he ordered him to turn or twist for his fitting. From there they turned to the way the man would constantly break boundaries, as if he wanted Finch’s firm but gentle redirection more than he actually needed it. Could it be that he actually enjoyed being…?

“Mr. Crane, sir?”

Harold looked up, blinking away the stimulating images from his mind. Mr. Asudeh was looking at him expectantly, a single eyebrow quirked. “Excuse me,” Harold began, his adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to swallow away his thoughts. “I’m afraid my mind wandered.” He turned his attention to the folded pinstripe pants that Mr. Asudeh had placed in his hands. They were of beautiful quality, the colours rich and fabric soft. “No, these won’t do.” He paused, tracing a finger down an emerald green stripe. “He’s tall enough already.”

Slightly embarrassed about how his daydreaming may have come off, Harold kept his mind firmly within the realm of the wardrobe for the rest of his tour through the store’s stock. If Mr. Asudeh had been put off by his slip of the mind, Harold was sure it was forgiven when he left with over 5000$ of suits in John’s basic measurements- one wool/mohair mix in a fetching navy, and one light slate blue woven from 100% merino wool, both slim cut, both tall. He would fit them for Mr. Reese himself, later, of course, but if an emergency arose, he trusted the atelier’s measurements to be very true to his measurements. 

He had John’s memorized, of course. 

Harold reflected on his purchases as he continued his walk down the bustling street, imagining the suits in his bag on the man’s body. The cut of the jacket on both suits would be extremely flattering on John, contouring his strong shoulders and broad, firm chest without stretching or puckering at the seams. Mr. Reese had a very lean musculature to him, his legs firm and toned from the calf to the hip. The slim cut of the pants would accentuate his shape, and cling to the stronger parts of his legs in a very alluring way. He would look especially pleasing from behind, with the shorter cut of the jacket leaving much of the view exposed. Harold frowned to himself. Not that he thought about the view of Mr. Reese’s behind. At least, not more than was decent. 

He turned his gaze away from the sidewalk to clear his mind. The shops around him advertised their wares in their large crystal clear windows- Tom Ford perfumes, Ferrari sporting goods, Prada bags, designer clothes for women, men, and children, and- Oh.

Harold Finch froze in front of the window at H Stern Jewelers. The display, full of intricate, opulent necklaces of rubies, gold, and pearls, with matching loose bracelets and half a dozen rings inlaid with every combination of the gems possible, had somehow transposed itself onto his mental image of John. There, in his mind’s eye, was Mr. Reese, looking at him through his thick, dark lashes, neck draped in the ropes of gold and jewels, a soft flush on his cheeks and wet-looking lips as he brought a hand to his own chest, a ruby ring on each finger and more gems dangling from his wrist. Harold had to brace himself against Bear to keep his knees from giving out completely at the imaginary John’s shirt falling open, and then disappearing altogether as he dragged his bejeweled hand down his torso, a buzzing warmth travelling through Harold’s limbs to a central point in his body. Harold told himself that he should look away. While he and Mr. Reese  _ were _ romantically involved, their hands never strayed far outside the boundary of eachother’s arms and shoulders, and the only skin to skin contact they made while sleeping was from the ankles down. Granted, an argument could be made for Reese’s playful disobedience being an attempt at demonstrating his subsequent submission- a very John Reese way of flirting- Or perhaps, Harold told himself, believing this was anything more than playful teasing was him exhibiting his own instance of confirmation bias. 

With a determined sigh, Finch tore his eyes away from the display, letting himself be swept back into the flow of the sidewalk. Removing the thoughts from his mind was a more difficult task. Whenever he thought he’d forced his consciousness far away enough from the image of a lazy, spoiled Mr. Reese lying back on soft, white sheets, somehow thoughts of hard drive defragmentation or cpu overclocking would bring a new scandalous portrait into view. 

Rushing to reach the opposite sidewalk before the traffic light switched, Finch began to think about John’s other, more important qualities. He was a hero, several times over- Harold had read the files detailing exactly how Mr. Reese had reported several of his fellow servicemen for cruelty and abuse towards civilians, and still managed to be a respected soldier in his battalion. Even in his time in the agency, John did his best to rebel against the orders of his abusive superiors- Kara’s, or his handlers’, when he could. Though Mr. Reese didn’t know it, Harold had seen how valiantly he had spared Daniel Casey’s life, years before their first meeting. 

It was a good way to distract himself, running through just how good an operative Mr. Reese was. It allowed him to think about his partner, without the thoughts straying to anything too self indulgent. It was a good plan. It should have been foolproof, really. But there was one variable Finch hadn’t considered.

He knew how he must look, standing still in the plaza outside the store, staring agape at the sign. How could he not? As if the name- Agent Provocateur- wasn’t enough, the red, strappy lingerie in the window, barely concealing the mannequin’s flat plastic body with transparent lace and sheer mesh added itself beautifully to the image of Mr. Reese that Harold had constructed in his head. The blue Zegna suit now completely crumpled on the floor, John’s firm, shapely body was spread across the bed, red lace bralette as perfectly sized to his pectorals as his suits to a his body, but sheer mesh panties doing very little to conceal his erection. What to expect of John’s shaft, Harold wasn’t sure- but he certainly imaged it to be proportionate to Mr. Reese’s size, and painfully erect. Sheer red stockings were pulled over John’s legs, stopping just short of his mid-thigh, and being pulled up to his waist by a red leather garter belt. The imaginary John rolled onto his stomach, rubies and pearls bouncing against his wide chest. The expression on his face brought Harold more emotion than he could have imagined. Finch closed his eyes, and, for the first time in a long time, allowed himself something. He allowed himself to imagine slipping his thick, solid cock into John’s open mouth. Allowed himself to imagine John’s heavily lidded eyes locking with his as he expertly, shamelessly worked his mouth on Finch’s heavy cock. Harold allowed himself to imagine how John’s lips would look, spilling with more white, creamy semen than he could swallow at once. Only for a second, Finch let himself think about Mr. Reese’s tongue dipping out of his mouth to collect every last drop. 

Very, very quietly, Harold Finch gasped.

It didn’t take him more than a second to realize that he had a very important decision to make. He stood, looking at the lingerie store with a stony determination. Mr. Reese wears what he tells him to wear, Finch reminded himself. Maybe, he hoped as he forced himself to enter the store, John would be happy to submit to Finch’s will on his intimates as well. 

  
  


~

  
  


(Harold watched in immense satisfaction as his thick splatters of cum covered the entirety of John’s face, and John, hungry for it, licked up every drop he could reach before eagerly moving his attention to the semen running down Harold’s balls.)


End file.
